The Ghostly Sentinel

Amidst the decaying ruins of an ancient lighthouse, perched on a craggy cliff overlooking the tempestuous sea, stands a ghostly soldier.
His battered and scarred scale armor, once gleaming and polished, hangs tarnished and loose upon his ghostly frame. His scimitar, now rusted and pitted, still hangs at his side, a silent reminder of a warriors might. He stands tall and vigilant, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon, as if he still looks out for an enemy that never came. His hollow gaze betrays centuries of sorrow and longing, and the weight of his burden is etched upon his spectral face. Never once he utters a word, not even a whisper, nor does he react to the few visitors who dare to venture into his domain.
Some say he is the spirit of a warrior who fell defending the tower centuries ago, his soul forever bound to the ruins he fought to protect. Others believe he is a cursed soul, doomed to watch the sea eternally as punishment for a deed forgotten by time.
On silent nights, when the moons are full, you can almost hear his breath on the wind, a mournful sigh that echoes through the ruins, asking a question that will never be answered.